


even as i am fully known

by iridescent_blue



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon Compliant to a Point, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, all too poetic for my writing style but who cares, birthday fic for the lovely kat ilysm and like. u made me love kevin even more, descriptions of injury recovery, if you cry then good i did my job right, it hurts but oh boy it gets better, listen okay ive had this idea for ages and. i needed to make it happen, no thea and kevin society has progressed beyond the need for thea and kevin, paper cranes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26716906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescent_blue/pseuds/iridescent_blue
Summary: The cast comes off, and flexing his fingers feels like hell. The cast comes off and there are these two scars, arcing across the back of his hand, raised and red and angry. He’s under strict orders not to flex it, to learn to write with his right hand (which he was doing anyway), and to be prepared to not have the same mobility as he did before the “accident.”A study in Kevin's recovery, with the help of some paper cranes.
Relationships: Kevin Day & Abby Winfield, Kevin Day & David Wymack, Kevin Day & Renee Walker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 54





	even as i am fully known

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mini_minyard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mini_minyard/gifts).



> this is a birthday present for the lovely wonderful iconic kat (mini-minyard on tumblr)! thank u so much bb for introducing me to the idea that loving kevin is something that can be so personal.. this idea's been sitting in my notes for ages and ur birthday gave me the incentive to write it!! 
> 
> without further ado, enjoy me loving on kevin and how fucking STRONG our boy is for 2.7k words :)

The cast comes off, and flexing his fingers feels like  _ hell. _ The cast comes off and there are these two scars, arcing across the back of his hand, raised and red and angry. He’s under strict orders not to flex it, to learn to write with his right hand (which he was doing anyway), and to be prepared to not have the same mobility as he did before the “accident.”

If one can call Riko, angry and hurt at the prospect of Kevin being better than him, smashing Kevin’s hand against the court wall with his racquet an “accident.” But no, not even the doctors know about that. A skiing trip, losing control, and having his hand torqued by the pole and slammed against a tree is the  _ only _ possible explanation for how mangled his hand was. Sometimes the sickening  _ crunch _ comes back to him in the middle of the day, making him feel sick, his muscles burning at the memory of the face-off shortly before it happened.

The cast comes off, Kevin flexes his fingers, just a little bit, and when he makes it back to Abby’s house, he curls up into a ball and  _ cries, _ whispering apologies to his mother in between sniffles. Abby comes in, rubs his back, and holds his right hand until he falls asleep, whispering to him that  _ it will be okay. _ He dreams of his mother, holding him and singing lullabies to make him rest. Or maybe that’s Abby. He wakes up to her asleep in the chair next to his bed, and when he looks at his hand again he bursts into tears, shaking, and she envelopes him in a hug, telling him that he needs to  _ breathe, _ that this isn’t the end of the world, that he’ll be okay again.

It won’t be okay. Kevin’s on strict orders to let his hand rest, to not do anything that hurts, which  _ especially _ includes Exy. It’s only been six weeks, the doctors and physical therapists tell him. He shouldn’t expect to be fully recovered for at least a year, if not more. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. A year? When he’s been playing Exy practically every day since he knew how to hold a racquet, when six weeks of no time on the court has already been an eternity?

Kevin feels useless. He sits around Abby’s house for a bit longer, before finally getting the guts to go to Wymack  _ (father, father, father, his useless brain tells him) _ and ask about transferring to PSU. It’s a resounding yes, of course, and Kevin starts going to classes, writing his notes messily with his right hand and ignoring the stares he gets, focusing on his history credits. He buys a laptop, a few months in, just so people will stop going wide eyed when they see how messy his handwriting is. 

He snaps at practice, too full of  _ longing _ to be on the court, his left hand shaking and pulsing in pain when he gestures too hard. He’s been so,  _ so _ patient, in classes, in physical therapy, around the rest of the Foxes with their reactionary natures that he can’t take it anymore, and lashes out in harsh criticisms. He doesn’t want to be angry. But he is.

At physical therapy, while he’s working through all of the stretches, gritting his teeth to make it just a  _ little _ further, he offhandedly mentions how not being able to do anything is pissing him off. His therapist guides him through the rest of his stretches, then hands him a package of thin, square paper and teaches him how to fold a crane. 

“There’s a Japanese legend that says if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you’ll be granted a wish,” Anne says, smiling warmly at him and his crinkled, lopsided crane. “If you make two or three cranes a day, you’ll be done in around a year.” She’s been so patient with Kevin, so kind and warm even when he yells in frustration because his hand won’t  _ fucking _ work, a shoulder to lean on when he gets tired or fears he’ll never play Exy again, his cheerleader when he’s able to do an exercise with more ease than last week. “And it’ll be good for working on your dexterity, and a nice way to meditate for a few minutes a day.” She sends him on his way, the package of paper tucked into his backpack.

He follows her rules. Recovery has never been a joke, and Kevin’s good at following instructions. It gives him purpose, something to do, even if it’s just to satisfy them. In addition to the daily exercises he does, which are getting easier, he’s getting stronger, he’s  _ recovering, _ Kevin folds two cranes a day. They’re his meditation. 

Two cranes the day he announces his switch to Palmetto’s team, playing as a striker. Two cranes the day Janie goes off to the psych ward. Two cranes on the flight to Millport, two cranes on the flight back to South Carolina. Every day, two more cranes get added to his box. He wants to do more on the hard days, but this is the only constant in his day. 

He runs out of paper in fifty days and then realizes just how  _ many  _ cranes one thousand is. He buys a needle and some string along with three more packs of paper and spends two days (four cranes) threading his first hundred together, in two neat stacks of fifty. Two cranes before Andrew takes Neil to Columbia for the first time. Two cranes before their first game. Two cranes after Kathy Ferdinand’s show. Those are messy, his hands couldn’t stop shaking. He folded them anyway.  _ Sometimes you’ll have messy days, _ Anne’s voice echoes in his head.  _ That’s part of healing. _

Kevin knows what his wish will be. After his thousandth crane, he will wish for his hand to be fully recovered, wish to be  _ better _ and  _ normal _ again. He needs his hand back, needs his skill back, needs to prove, fair and square, that all of the sports analysts were right, that he  _ is _ better than Riko. He is the true Son of Exy, and he needs his wish to reaffirm that. 

Neil picks a fight on Kathy’s show. Seth dies. Two more cranes. Thanksgiving in Columbia ends in blood and Andrew going away. Two more cranes. Two cranes while Neil’s in the Nest, every night, knowing exactly what the cane slicing through the air sounds like, knowing that Riko will show no mercy. He cries, every night, cries for Neil, cries for Jean, cries for himself. They didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve  _ any _ of this. 

Two cranes when Neil comes back, stitched up and bruised, face marred with a number that Kevin could have prevented. He looks like  _ Nathaniel _ now, and Wymack quietly tells him about the knife he tried to take to his tattoo. He’s not angry at Kevin, he’s just  _ tired. _ Neil has been through too much. Wymack puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezes and says that they just have to keep moving, that they’ve all been through too much. Kevin leans into his touch, and they stand in silence in Wymack’s little kitchen, mirroring each other with their slumped shoulders and tired eyes. 

Two more cranes. Again and again, every day. Every hundred, he threads together two strings of fifty. The box is full now, so he asks Wymack if he can keep a bigger bin at his house. He still hasn’t told Wymack the truth, even though it’s on the tip of his tongue all the time. Still, even though Wymack doesn’t know, he says yes, helps Kevin find a safe spot for his bin, pats him on the back when Kevin shows him that he’s able to write (albeit messily) with his left hand again. 

Two cranes, every day, in between class and practice and night practice and not sleeping and making it through championship rounds. Everything is a flurry around him, but for five minutes, he picks two colors. He folds two cranes. He puts them in his little box, stretches out his hand, and  _ breathes. _

He folds two cranes before they leave for the match in Binghamton, and doesn’t fold any more for a few days after that. It’s the first time he’s missed folding cranes, and the absence of the repetitive folds, the time to himself, it grates on his brain. He thinks about his wish again, thinks about maybe wishing for Neil to catch a break, but then his hand twinges from him making a fist too tight and he’s reminded of the  _ one thing _ that’s holding him back. It’s selfish, Kevin knows, but he’s making these cranes for  _ himself. _ He can keep this wish. 

He tells Wymack. It’s awkward, understandably, but Wymack pulls him in for a hug, holds him close, tells him that Kayleigh would be beyond proud of him. And they cry, because one of Kevin’s truths is that he will always,  _ always, _ miss his mom. He tells her hello when he steps on the court, whispers the results of each game to his pillow, on the off chance she’s listening. 

He folds cranes while they’re on vacation. Renee finds him one day, allows him to explain, and gives him a serene smile. “They’ve helped you,” she says, and he knows she means it in more ways than physical.

“Yeah,” he says, tucking the finished cranes into a box and sliding the paper away. “They have.”

She nods, gently pats his shoulder in that sweet, understanding way, and goes back to the team, where they’re watching movies and throwing popcorn at the screen. 

He finishes his cranes a few days before the championship match. One thousand. Five hundred days. Twenty strands of fifty, neatly tucked into his box. He sits on his wish, doesn’t use it. 

“My father comes to all of my games,” he says, looking out over the rows of fans in the stadium. “That is enough.”

Wymack’s eyes water. “Your mother would be proud of you,” he says, gently.

“Not just of me,” Kevin says. It doesn’t need to be said aloud, that Wymack does so many things that Kayleigh would be proud of, that they’ve come further than they ever could have imagined, that even though their stories aren’t yet over, they’ve  _ made it. _

Riko spits every insult in the book in Kevin’s face when he sees the tattoo. The words don’t cut him like they used to. Riko takes it a step further, tells him that his mother would be disappointed in him, that he’s a disgrace to the name of Exy. If not for Wymack, if not for the Foxes, if not for his  _ family, _ that would have ruined him. 

“I am more than you can ever hope to be,” he says calmly. “Get my mother’s name out of your mouth.” What’s Riko going to do? Break his hand in front of a stadium of witnesses? In front of the main branch?

Who cares if he does. Kevin recovered once. He can do it again. He knows how to live, he knows how to  _ thrive, _ he’s learned how to be human, to be flawed and whole, to laugh and cry and let go and play like he  _ means _ it, play because he  _ loves _ it, not because he needs to be better than everyone else. 

And really, that’s where the difference is, he thinks, staring Riko down, waiting for the buzzer to sound. Riko thrives on superiority, on praise, on being the best. Kevin lives for the game, for the adrenaline rush of slamming a goal home, for the bang of Andrew’s racquet against the wall, the red lights of the goal, the thump of the ball against plexiglass. Riko controls the Ravens, but as long as Kevin is on the court, it is  _ his. _

The first half is hard, but Kevin  _ loves _ it. Better yet, he  _ trusts _ his team. He doesn’t need to hold back, doesn’t need to let someone else take shots to improve their image. They play with everything they have because Exy, the rush of the game, the teamwork and camaraderie and the need to show everyone that they are stronger than their faults, that is why they’re here. Not for a performance, but to be  _ real. _

Walking out on the court for the second half, Kevin looks Riko dead in the eyes where he sits on the sidelines, then swaps his racquet to his left hand, head held high, looking away before he can see Riko’s face. The reaction doesn’t matter, he just needs Riko to see how far he’s come. He didn’t need a wish to heal his hand. He did it himself, exercises every day, two cranes a day, sleepless nights spent on the court, blowing his arms out night after night and coming back for more the next day, because above all, he  _ wants _ to get better.

They played with all they had in the first half. Now, in the second half, they all dig deep, into the parts of them they had to develop from lives of hardship, the parts of them that ignore the burn in their legs and the ache of being checked. Of the part that  _ lives _ for the game,  _ thrives _ on pushing harder, harder, past the limits, fighting because it is the  _ only _ thing they know how to do. Kevin digs into the pain of recovery, of the sleepless nights and too many drinks and throwing his squeezy ball at the wall, and relishes in the pain in his calves, the static in his feet from slapping the court, over and over again, and his desperate energy, along with Neil’s speed, revitalizes the rest of the Foxes.

Except for Andrew. He’s fresh on the court, and his strength ripples through their lineup. He’s a protector, first and foremost, and while he says Exy is nothing to him, it’s  _ everything _ Kevin and Neil have, and Andrew protects his own. 

Riko comes back on the court, and Neil drops back to defend against him. They’re a well-oiled machine, goalie, backliner, striker, Andrew stopping any balls that came to him, Neil ruining every shot Riko could take with every trick in the book, slamming the ball up to Kevin whenever he can. The Ravens are good, running through play after play, but the Foxes are  _ better, _ running on instinct and trust, knowing every person on the court better than themselves. 

Kevin scores in the last two seconds of the game. He outplays Riko, fair and square, with a team who knows him backing him up, a team that watched every step of recovery and never once doubted him. A team with ideas crazier than his own, a team that understands what it means to survive and grow until surviving becomes living becomes something that looks like happiness. 

He didn’t need a wish to win. He needed the Foxes. He needed his father backing him up. And he needed to know that he is strong enough to stand on his own, steady enough to lead his own life. And he knows that. 

Andrew breaks Riko’s arm, and Kevin half-smiles as he watches the “King” crumble. He doesn’t have the strength to survive a loss like this. But Kevin did. And he came back, better than ever. And there, another difference, cementing the fact that Kevin has  _ always _ been the stronger one. 

Kevin saves his wish. He was going to use it on his hand, on the championship game, but he didn’t need it. Deep down, he’s always been a frugal person, saving things for when he really needs them. The cranes sit in their bin, in Wymack’s house, until Kevin moves to San Diego to play. Then they come with him.

He uses his wish at the Olympics, the USA versus Japan. Because this time, he needs the extra bit of luck. Two evenly matched teams, full of people who live for the game. Yes, Kevin  _ wants _ to win, but most of all, he’s looking forward to the game itself, full of people who started playing like this because they  _ loved _ it.

He walks out on the court, racquet held high in his left hand,  _ Kevin Day, Number Two, Starting Striker. _ He doesn’t need to be number one. He doesn’t even need a number. He just needs the game. 

Here, on the court, he is stronger than Riko’s ghost ever will be. Here, he is the Queen of Exy. Here, he is infinite.

**Author's Note:**

> hhhhhhhhh kat and tam have turned me into a kevin day lovebot i hope that was good
> 
> again happy birthday kat (if u don't know who they are pls check out mini-minyard on tumblr for like. some absolutely GORGEOUS aftg art i stg im BLESSED by it theyre also doing a kevin of the day and they bring me so much serotonin u cant BELIEVE)
> 
> anyways comments/kudos are incredibly appreciated and also tell kat happy birthday or ELSE have a nice day and like??? happy birthday kat u funky little human ilysm and im so glad were friends holy fuccccccccc


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